Chapter 42: Seeking a Cure

To speak of the young man’s appearance, one could rightly call it "magnificent and majestic." Yet, compared to Ruoxi’s ethereal elegance and Shen Lian’s spiritual transcendence, his presence felt somewhat common.

Upon entering, the young man introduced himself simply as Zhao Xiang, then asked for Shen Lian’s name. His speech possessed a natural charisma that made it easy for others to develop an instinctive liking for him. Shen Lian observed him quietly and realized this was linked to the faint, purple aura surrounding him—a mist invisible to ordinary eyes that emitted a field of influence, swaying the hearts and minds of others to feel a sense of kinship. In layman’s terms, this was the "aura of a king." Since ancient times, many great founding emperors possessed similar presences, allowing them to inspire others to die for their cause even when they lacked a solid foundation.

Shen Lian’s spiritual cultivation was exceptionally profound, and his mind was sharp; he was highly sensitive to such things. While it was not a dark art, its effect was no less potent than any spell used to bewitch the soul. Even he, despite understanding the underlying cause, found a strange, inexplicable sense of favor toward the man simply because he held no prejudice against him. He had already concluded that Zhao Xiang was of royal blood—a true dragon waiting in the depths. However, compared to when they first met, the purple aura, though not weak, felt uncharacteristically unstable, as if some shift had occurred in his destiny.

Zhao Xiang had come today to discuss Taoism and metaphysics. The Great Wei dynasty revered the Taoist tradition, but the current Empress favored Buddhism—partly due to personal preference, and partly for political considerations. Currently, beyond the eight mainstream Buddhist sects, two new branches had emerged: the Pure Land and the Buddha-Heart. The Buddha-Heart sect had absorbed many profound Taoist principles, effectively becoming a Taoist school cloaked in Buddhist garb. It stood unique among both schools, and its doctrines were more palatable to the nobles who had previously favored Taoism.

Zhao Xiang spoke with profound logic and imposing eloquence. Yet, Shen Lian was widely read and knowledgeable; he discussed Zen and metaphysics with ease, drawing citations from a hundred schools of thought. Occasionally, he would interject with a brilliant insight that shattered the momentum Zhao Xiang had been building. They had debated for three days, the young man arriving every morning and leaving before noon. Throughout, Zhao Xiang had not revealed his true purpose, and Shen Lian marveled at his patience. But today, the man would surely make his request. Perhaps he was seeking treatment for the first patient Shen Lian would see in the Divine Capital.

There was no place in the world where the causal threads of the secular realm were more tangled than the Imperial City. Yet, when Shen Lian had studied history on Earth, he had read of many enlightened masters who became entangled with emperors. Guangchengzi had engaged in discourse with the Yellow Emperor; Zhang Liang had assisted the founder of the Han dynasty; Zhou Dian and Zhang Sanfeng had successively aided the emperors of the Zhu family. These were all enlightened beings who, by all accounts, should have been indifferent to fame and wealth, yet they involved themselves in such worldly affairs. Shen Lian had come to a partial understanding: there is no change in the world’s energy more magnificent than the shifting of dynasties. To follow the true dragon, to align with the mandate of heaven, and to perceive the transformation of the earth’s axis—this was a rare experience indeed.

The feng shui formation of the Divine Capital was naturally formed; its deeper mysteries were invisible. Perhaps when the heavens changed and the earth turned, the formation would be severely affected. At that moment, could he grasp that sliver of true creation and master the key to the harmonious coexistence of the eight qi? In any case, this was an opportunity worth attempting. Since Zhao Xiang had come to his door, Shen Lian did not mind playing the role of Zhang Liang for once. Moreover, half of Ruoxi’s blood belonged to the Zhao family.

Though he felt this way, he did not show it. Zhao Xiang borrowed Shen Lian’s zither to play; despite his heroic bearing, his music was elegant, displaying his aristocratic grace. Ruoxi, however, did not find it pleasant, nor did she like Zhao Xiang. But Zhao Xiang was quite fond of Ruoxi and brought her many small gifts each time he visited. Suddenly, the music faltered, and a string snapped. Zhao Xiang looked at Shen Lian with an apologetic expression. By all logic, Shen Lian should have asked why his heart was so troubled as to break a string, but his response did not follow the script Zhao Xiang had anticipated.

The summer day was sweltering, yet Shen Lian’s courtyard remained cool. The ivy on the walls was lush and verdant; the vibrant life here felt extraordinary, even to Zhao Xiang, which only reinforced his belief that Shen Lian was the one who could help him. Shen Lian smiled faintly and said, "It is just a broken string; you need not mind it."

Zhao Xiang had prepared for Shen Lian’s inquiry so he could explain the facts, but he had not expected Shen Lian to ignore the opening entirely. Yet, seeing the playful glint in Shen Lian’s eyes, Zhao Xiang realized that Shen Lian was far too clever and must have known all along that he had a favor to ask.

"Qingxia, to be honest, there is something I must beg of you," Zhao Xiang said decisively. Had he asked directly before, Shen Lian might not have cared, and the situation had not yet reached such a desperate state. Now, forced by circumstance, the decision had to be made.

"What is it?" Shen Lian asked directly.

"My father has contracted a strange illness. We have invited many famous doctors, but none can cure it. It has grown worse by the day, and I wish to know if you can heal him." Zhao Xiang did not specify the nature of the illness. He knew Shen Lian was a man of miracles, and the reputation of the "Living Dead" was bold indeed. With no other options left, he had no choice but to try his luck with him. In truth, he had already investigated Shen Lian, but the man seemed to have appeared out of thin air, leaving no trail. The Imperial Secret Service possessed records of Shen Lian from sixteen years ago, but those had already been destroyed by Shen Lian himself. It was impossible for a person to have no background, and the fact that even he could find nothing proved that Shen Lian was truly extraordinary. He had never seen Shen Lian’s medical skills, but he trusted the man himself—and, more importantly, no one else had been able to cure his father.

"Since you are already in the mindset of 'treating a dead horse as if it were alive,' does it matter if I can cure him?" Shen Lian smiled, ruthlessly exposing Zhao Xiang’s thoughts.

Zhao Xiang looked slightly embarrassed. "I truly have no other options."

Shen Lian replied, "I opened this clinic to treat the sick. If you can bring your father here, I will naturally treat him."

"That is impossible. Could you come to my home instead? I fear I cannot convince my father to come here," Zhao Xiang said, his face full of sorrow.

"The inner palace is a place ordinary people cannot enter in a lifetime, but I have no desire to go there right now. You should go and convince His Highness the Crown Prince first," Shen Lian said with a calm expression, his words like a thunderclap—he already knew Zhao Xiang’s identity.

In three days, if Shen Lian had the heart to look, investigating a person’s identity was no difficult task. Zhao Xiang gave a bitter smile. "I did not expect you to have already discovered my identity, Qingxia. It is no wonder; with your wisdom, how could you not find out?"

Though he had intended to reveal his identity, he had not expected Shen Lian to know already. What was rare was that even knowing, Shen Lian’s attitude toward him remained unchanged. Although he and his father were currently walking on thin ice, trembling with fear, he was still a prince of the royal bloodline; even the monks of the Ku-Hui monastery dared not treat him with anything less than respect.